


the old familiar sting

by Attila



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon-Compliant, Gen, M/M, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attila/pseuds/Attila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a fine line, they say, which is true in at least one respect--it's horribly easy to stand with one leg on either side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the old familiar sting

After Cuba, everything should change, and it does, except for the parts that really don’t.

Erik kidnaps him once, twice, ten times, over and over, whenever he has time, whenever he feels like it, a few days before every holiday, every birthday, every anniversary they never got far enough to celebrate. They talk, they fight, they sit in silence, they yell and scream and cry and laugh like nothing ever happened at all. They play chess and watch sunsets and read and argue and sit in the spaces left by everything they can’t seem to say, all the conversations they never had. They pretend everything’s the same and fight anyway; they forget not to smile and that they aren’t supposed to joke. They meet each other’s eyes but won’t reach out, they shatter like glass and forget how to put each other back together, but Erik never stops coming, and Charles would never forgive him if he did.

It doesn’t work at all, which surprises absolutely no one, but _they_ do, fitting together like they always did, and sometimes everything even feels horribly normal. Every moment they’re together is hell, but every moment apart is worse, and Charles can’t bear to let it stop, because in the end, this is all he has left. Pretending this is still okay is better than acknowledging that it can’t be, so he swallows his screams and welcomes it like an addict.

“Could it ever have gone differently?” he says, once, twice, ten times, over and over. “Is there something I could have said to make you stop?”

Erik storms out of the room the first time, screams until his voice goes hoarse the second, punches a hole in the wall the tenth, but he never actually _answers_ , just changes the subject in every way imaginable. Charles begs until he’s almost sobbing, until his voice is breaking, and he won’t stop, no matter how many times Erik asks him to, and it hurts _so much_ , but so does everything else these days. “Tell me,” he says. “Please, just tell me, tell me what I could have done, tell me how I could’ve fixed it,” and he doesn’t want to know, but he needs to, and it’s not like he ever gets what he wants anyway.

“Yes,” Erik finally says, defenses falling apart around him, “yes, of course there was something, there’s always something, but it doesn’t _matter_. Look at who we are, Charles, and look at who we’ve become. This was always coming, we just didn’t realize it, and maybe you could have put it off for a day, or a week, or a month, but we still would’ve ended up in the same place; it couldn’t have been fixed, so what does it matter when it broke?”

Charles is numb, but, well, wheelchair, so it’s not like he’s not used to that. He’s breaking apart, maybe, but that’s old news too, so he says, “I would have taken it. Another day, or week, or month, I would have taken it. Just one more memory. I would give anything for that, so how can you say it doesn’t _matter_?”

Erik makes a noise that’s some sick mimicry of a laugh, spits out, “Because it’s over, all of it, and we can’t ever get it back. We don’t get more memories, and it just makes it _worse_ if you think about how you could’ve, so stop it, just _stop_ it, because I have a future to pay attention to, no matter where you’re living,” and oh, they’re fighting now, this is one of those days, well, fine, Charles can handle that.

“And is this our future?” he yells back. “Look at us, you single-minded idiot. _Look!_ Is this it? Is this what we get, Erik?” 

Erik snarls at him, says, “It’s Magneto now, you sanctimonious twerp,” and Charles smiles wide, says, “Oh, no, my friend, it will always be Erik, no matter how far you run,” and lets his neck go loose and pliant when the blow lands. 

Erik hisses, “At least I’m not _hiding_ ,” and Charles licks the blood from his lip, says, “Aren’t you?” just to see Erik go blank, falling into a chair and saying nothing at all. He shouldn’t feel quite so triumphant, but he does anyway and refuses to feel guilty about it. “Is this your precious future?” he sneers, horribly cruel and enjoying every instant of it.

Erik shrugs indifferently, just as cruel in his own way. “Did you have something else in mind?” he says, and no, Charles doesn’t, because he’s a scientist and an adult, and he knows reality when it stares him in the face, so he laughs and says, “I guess there’s more than one way of growing old together,” and, well, if this isn’t the one he would’ve chosen, it’s still better than nothing.


End file.
